


In the Summer Night

by Shayheyred



Category: Onmyouji | The Yin-Yang Master (Movies)
Genre: Chromatic Source, Chromatic Yuletide, Heian Period, M/M, Magic, Melancholy, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayheyred/pseuds/Shayheyred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a long summer night, wine is drunk, music is played, and an offer is made</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Summer Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [takadainmate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadainmate/gifts).



“I so love these glorious summer nights,” Hiromasa remarked.

Seimei sipped wine, and fanned himself gently. "Mm."

Beside him, Hiromasa stretched and yawned in a familiarly noisy way. He leaned against the post in his usual pose and regarded Seimei through narrowed eyes. “You’re very taciturn tonight, Seimei. You haven’t said more than a word since I arrived.”

Seimei stared into his wine. “What would you have me say?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Hiromasa shrugged. “That the night deserves poetry, that the wind feels soft and warm against one’s skin—“ Hiromasa paused, turning away his face. “That you’re happy to see me.”

“I suppose you're blushing.” Seimei did not look to see if that were indeed the case. 

“That's what you'd expect of me, isn’t it?” Hiromasa said, a shade indignantly. “And if I am blushing, I expect you’ll mock me for it.”

“No. Tonight I won’t mock you, my dear Hiromasa.” 

Hiromasa smiled contentedly and lay back against the warm wood floor of the veranda, stretching his long body languorously. “Then you _are_ pleased to see me?”

“Naturally."

"Of course you are. Would you have summoned me, otherwise?” 

"Did I summon you?"

"Naturally," Hiromasa echoed. "Otherwise, why would I have come?"

"Then It must be so."

“You're very odd tonight." 

"Am I?"

Hiromasa chuckled. "Perhaps no odder than usual, if I may be so bold. But...different. You're very…” Hiromasa propped himself up on an elbow. “Forgive me, Seimei, but you are melancholy, which as you know does not suit the season. _Autumn_ is the season of melancholy. Summer is the time for happiness. Enjoyment.” Slowly, delicately, Hiromasa loosened the ties of his gown, revealing a narrow sliver of skin. “Pleasure.”

At long last Seimei turned, his eyes traveling up Hiromasa’s torso, pausing at the open robe and the glimpse of Hiromasa’s chest. He tore his gaze away. “You’ve never been this forward.”

“Isn't that what you want?" When Seimei did not reply, he spoke again. "Do I displease you?”

“Certainly not," Seimei said with a small smile. "It's just that...this isn't like you."

“Am I not exactly as I've always been?”

“You are exactly as I have always wished you to be.”

"Well then." Hiromasa nodded. “If it pleases you, then this is how I shall stay.”

Seimei said nothing. He put down his wine and tucked away his fan. The air was warm and heavy, but a breeze stirred. Dawn was approaching.

“So then, Seimei,” Hiromasa said, a note of frustration coloring his voice. “We've drunk the night away, and here I am. You summoned me. What is it you desire of me? Whatever it is…you need only ask.”

“I know.”

Hiromasa’s hand moved to rest upon Seimei's sleeve. The fine long fingers lay there without weight, the exquisite pallor of his skin nearly as white as Seimei’s robe. “Seimei,” Hiromasa whispered huskily. “Seimei. Tell me what it is you want of me.”

"Ah, Hiromasa, what I want—" He took a ragged breath. "It doesn't matter."

"Tell me."

Seimei stared into the garden. The breeze was growing stronger now; time was short. “Play your flute for me.”

“Nothing else?” Hiromasa’s hand remained on Seimei’s arm. 

“No.”

“But why? I thought you wanted—“

“I did. I do. But now...it would be too cruel, Hiromasa.”

Hiromasa sighed. “I don’t understand you.”

“I know.”

The pale hand withdrew. Seimei heard Hiromasa sit up beside him, the rustle of fabric as the flute was drawn from within folds of silk. And then the delicate music began, tentative at first, then growing in confidence as skillful fingers flew over the stops of Hiromasa’s flute.

The weight of the night pressed upon him. He listened, rapt, aroused, distraught, and let the music pierce his heart. 

There was a glow to the east. Seimei closed his eyes against it. Hiromasa’s elaborate melody changed and grew in complexity, swelled in volume, and then faded to a simple, melancholy phrase. Seimei thought his heart might burst. _If I could die, in this moment, Hiromasa—_

The last note sounded. Seimei held his breath and opened his eyes. The night was over, the time for impossible things to end. A thin shaft of sunlight came over the horizon, illuminating the veranda, shedding golden light on the empty place beside him where Hiromasa had sat. But had not sat, no, not for many years.

“Ah, Hiromasa.” A single tear slid down Seimei's cheek. "Too cruel, oh yes. Too cruel."

**Author's Note:**

> There were a number of requests for Onmyouji this year, and all were great. But something about yours resonated with me. I hope the result is, as Hiromasa might say, not displeasing to you.


End file.
